The Proposal Project

Chapter 1

Chapter One

The End of Cheap Noodles

I t’s strange how the span of twenty seconds can feel so different depending on what’s happening. For instance, when you’re in bed with a guy and it only lasts twenty seconds, well, it might as well have only been two seconds. (I’m not naming names.)

On the other hand, when you’re sitting across the table from your boss after royally screwing up the biggest project you’ve ever been assigned, and no one has said a word for twenty seconds, that might feel more like an eternity.

Either way, you’re screwed—and it wasn’t very good.

My soon to be ex-boss, Donald Delmar, parts his lips and closes them several times before the words finally leave his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Cain, but we’re letting you go.”

Knowing this was coming doesn’t make it any easier to hear. My throat tightens, and even though I told myself I would leave this job with dignity, I find myself wanting to fight this.

“I wasn’t the only one involved, you know,” I tell him.

He sighs. The corners of his lips tilt downward. It feels like I’ve disappointed him all over again. I don’t know why I care anymore, but I do. I hate disappointing people.

“Booking the caterer was your responsibility,” he reminds me.

“Okay, but you told me that the client specifically requested?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts me. “Three hundred people sat in that ballroom waiting two hours for a dinner that cost them upwards of five hundred bucks a pop. You know how much money our client lost from this fuck-up?”

I can do the math, and it’s not pretty.

“But—”

“We’re lucky that Malcolm isn’t suing us for every penny and more,” he growls. “And the only reason we’re not getting sued is because he made me promise to fire the person responsible.”

Malcolm Ridges is the president of ANY-Time, a charity here in Upstate New York. He was in my boss’s office this morning and even though the doors were closed, I’m pretty sure everyone in the building could hear him yelling. Knowing that he was yelling about me makes me feel even worse.

I’m afraid I’ll break down if I stay here any longer, and I’m not a pretty crier. I stand up and face away from him. “I’ll get my things.”

“No need,” he says. “Your desk has been packed up for you. You can grab the box at the front desk on your way out.”

I hesitate at the door, then look back at him. “Did you pack my tape dispenser? I need my tape dispenser.”

“The tape dispenser is company property,” he says.

I shake my head. “It was custom ordered for me,” I argue. “It’s a left-handed tape dispenser. It’s mine, and I should be able to take it with me.”

He sighs, looking down at the table like this is difficult for him. “There is no such thing as a left-handed tape dispenser,” he says. “And you’re not even left-handed.”

“You don’t know that. I could be left-handed.”

“You want it because it’s shaped like a high-heel shoe,” he says. “Besides, Rachel already claimed it. Please, just go and don’t embarrass yourself anymore, Priscilla.”

I wince, his words stinging. Still, I can’t seem to bring myself to walk out of here with dignity. “Rachel from the mail room? What does she need a tape dispenser for? She rips open envelopes. She doesn’t tape them back together.”

Delmar rubs his hand over his face like he does when he gets a headache. “I don’t know what you need it for, either. It’s not going to tape your career back together.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I find that I’m too stunned to say anything. I leave his office and slam the door. And if anyone ever asks about the missing tape dispenser… I most definitely did not stop by the mail room on my way out.

* * *

After an unusually cold spring, this is the first warm day we’ve had all year.

The spring flowers are blooming, and the leaves are finally growing back on the trees after the branches have been bare all winter.

A puddle from yesterday’s rain lines the side of the road.

So far, every car that’s passed has done so carefully so as not to splash me.

It’s like they know that I’m having a bad day and they don’t want to make it worse. It gives me a little hope for humanity.

If I hadn’t just been fired from what was supposed to be my dream job, I might have appreciated this weather a little better.

I’m dressed for summer in a short-sleeve shirt and denim shorts, and I’ve chosen to walk the three miles to Tina’s place instead of taking my car.

I need this extra time to myself to figure out what I’m going to do next.

I pass a group of teenagers gathered in a convenience store parking lot. One of them whistles, and I make the mistake of glancing over at him. He waves. I look away, ignoring him.

“Hey, miss?” he calls out.

I dare to look one more time.

“Could you buy us some smokes?” he asks.

I frown. “What? No way!”

“Come on,” he begs. “I have the money. All you need to do is go in there and buy them.”

“I’m not buying cigarettes for a minor,” I tell him. I look straight ahead, hoping that if I keep walking, they’ll leave me alone.

“I’m not a minor,” he says. “I just lost my ID.”

I roll my eyes. “You look like you’re twelve. Where’s your babysitter?”

The kid starts cursing at me, while he and all his friends stick up their middle fingers.

I ignore them and pick up my pace to get away from them.

They stop shouting when I make it past the parking lot.

I let my shoulders drop with relief. I let my mind wander back to everything that happened earlier today.

My fists tighten when I think about Delmar’s reason for firing me.

I’m only vaguely aware of the rumble of an engine starting somewhere behind me.

I don’t think much of it until a pickup truck comes up behind me and steers into the puddle on the side of the road, sending up a wave of filthy street water.

The cold water hits me like a wall, and I freeze, my hands up at my sides.

I’m completely drenched. The teenagers shout more profanities out the window of the truck, laughing at me and flipping me off before they take off. I spit out some water and growl.

This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

When I make it to Tina’s neighborhood, my shirt is still wet enough that I could wring it out, my denim shorts are heavy, and there’s dirt caked onto my legs where the water is drying.

I haven’t seen myself in a mirror, but I’m sure my hair is a mess.

I must look like I live on the streets. Tina is going to wonder what the hell happened to me.

Even though she and I are the same age, our lives look a lot different.

She designed an app and sold it for seven figures before she was even out of college.

Now she lives in a beautiful three-bedroom townhome in an upscale, gated neighborhood.

She lives there with her boyfriend, a techie she met at a work convention.

My apartment complex isn’t in a bad area, but it’s just me there and all I have is one bedroom.

It’s nothing I’ve ever felt inclined to take photos of.

Tina’s house, on the other hand, looks like it was taken straight out of a magazine.

Her hardwood floors are the color of charcoal.

Her walls are perfectly white and decorated with expensive artwork.

She has white marble countertops in her kitchen, and the upper cabinets have glass doors that show off her perfect collection of expensive white dishes.

The lower cabinets are as white as her walls, and so is her couch.

There’s a lot of white in Tina’s house. It’s beautiful, but it makes me afraid to touch anything.

We’re even opposites physically: she’s tall enough to be a model, with pale blond hair and blue eyes. I’m only a hair above five feet tall, and my hair and eyes are as brown as the mud that’s caked onto my legs.

Tina opens the door as I come up her walkway. “What the hell took so long?” She looks behind me at the street. “And where’s your car?”

“The weather is nice. I thought I’d walk.”

I also wanted more time to process what just happened at work. That, and I’m afraid to waste the gas. Who knows when I’ll be able to afford to fill my tank again?

“You’re insane,” she says. She frowns when I reach her. “Did you walk here, or did you wade through the sewer?” She leans in, sniffing me.

“I got splashed by a car.” I decide to leave out the fact that I might have antagonized a group of teenage boys.

She scoffs. “People are so rude these days. Who the hell does that?”

I shrug. “Maybe they didn’t see me.”

“Come on in,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll throw your clothes in the wash and you can rinse off.”

I follow her into the house. I slip my shoes off next to the door.

I can hear someone talking in the kitchen.

I frown at Tina. I didn’t realize anyone else would be here.

She shrugs, then leads the way to the kitchen, where we find Marjorie, her boyfriend’s mom, stirring a cup of coffee.

She keeps talking, her back turned to us.

I’m not sure if she realizes that Tina had left the room.

“…which is why you shouldn’t have white countertops,” Marjorie is saying. “It shows every little bit of dirt. Just look at how much this coffee stands out.”

Next to the cup that Marjorie is stirring is a decently sized puddle of coffee which must have spilled from being stirred too vigorously. I exchange a look with Tina. She smirks, then steps up next to Marjorie and wipes up the mess with a paper towel.

“Nothing a good old-fashioned paper towel can’t fix,” Tina says.

Marjorie looks up at her, then seems to spot me in her peripherals. She turns around and her voice goes up an octave. “Oh. Hi. Paula, right?”

“Priscilla,” I correct her. I’ve met this woman exactly seven times, and she can never remember my name. I’m not sure if it’s endearing or just annoying.